


Secret Diary of a Depressed Doctor

by WolfyB



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Diary/Journal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:29:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfyB/pseuds/WolfyB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bits John never showed us in his blog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Diary of a Depressed Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST EVER SHERLOCK FANFICTION! So, I don't think this is very good, but a friend told me I should post this :') Basically, I watched the finale of BBC Merlin, and was depressed, and transferred those emotions to this fic. (I can't write a Merlin fic now without it sounding v. v. emo and uninteresting.) This story is short, but I hope you like it. :)

January 2012

I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. I can't handle knowing how close you are all the time, because it's never close enough. You live as though feelings are a sin, as though the idea of falling in love genuinely hurts you... I don't know how to show you that I could be the best thing that ever happened to you. You are so perfect, yet so broken – and I think I could fix you, if you'd just let me try.

It hurts me, every time you get called a freak, or someone tries to put you down – I want to protect you, want to stop the bad things from ever touching you, keep you safe with me.

And I know you do love me, in your own way, that despite what you say, you do have feelings; and that no matter how many times I try, I can never really run away fro you because you always manage to make me forgive you. Forgive, but not forget. You are my everything, but that doesn't mean I trust you – you have too much of my heart, and I know what you're like.

March 2012

Reading back previous diary entries always hurts me deep inside, because I remember those emotions; heck, I still have them sometimes. But I can never make you understand any of them. Because... because you're gone now, Sherlock, forever, and no amount of wishful thinking on my part can bring you back.  
I've tried so hard to think of a way in which your death could be false, how you could have lied, but... It's not because I don't think you would lie to me, because I know you would, if you though it would help.  
Not even you, Sherlock, could leave for three years like that, completely vanish in that way. You love London too much, you like the smell, and the colours, and the constant movement. You like the faint signs of wear and tear on the buildings and cobbled streets, the air of antiquity only a city as old as this could have, with the shiny plaques and signs and slow moving, smelly traffic that cover the roads. You like the continuous battle of new and old, that you tell me New York could never dream of having and Paris could never quite touch. Mainly I think you just don't like the accents and the Parisian way of life, but I never could pull that out of you.  
I never will, now, I suppose.

I miss you Sherlock Holmes. You told me once that you weren't a hero; there were times that I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this: you were the best man and the most human... human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you lied about your deductions. And so... there. I was so alone and I owe you so much, Sherlock Holmes, that I can never repay. But...  
I can put all this behind me. You helped me when I needed it most, and now I'll help myself by – by getting over you. I will always love you, Sherlock Holmes, but it's time I started to... forget.


End file.
